In case I didn't make it clear when I announced that Frank finally discovered the joys of sitting inside a nest box, let me point out that it took him 7 years, 8 months and 19 days to finally try it out. Oh, he's perched on the edge of a nest (pops) many times in the past two years in order to get at the tasty seeds inside, and has even sat inside to snack. But this week was the first time he's sat inside a box just because it was a nice place to be. He was in and out quite a bit, and it made me smile each time I saw him looking out the box at me.

When Frank first started going inside, Bruce and I wondered if the molt was hitting him so hard that he really needed the extra security of the box. It turns out that was the case. In fact, he was probably hit by more than a bad molt. He came out of the nest box yesterday a bit uncoordinated. Bruce caught him too easily, and I put him in the hospital cage where he immediately played dead for at least two long minutes. Good and dead!

Thanks Ovaltine, for teaching all the Finsters that fun trick!

After he got up again, it was pretty clear that Frank might not even make it to the vet's office. He was uncoordinated, dozed a lot, and although he ate some millet (or at least pretended to), he wasn't able to poop. Well, he made it to the vet's, but he died a short time later. He might have had an organ failure (liver, maybe), or some sort of neurologic condition. And a bad molt.

At least he discovered the nest box.

This photo is of three brown birds, now all dead: Frank in the front, Sally in the back, and Bosco in the middle.

R.I.P. Frank, circa April 4, 1998 — December 27, 2005.